


warm (and happy)

by orphan_account



Series: ficlets [14]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, NSFW, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i forgot to tag, it's so fluffy i need a dentist and a dextrose stick test, winter/snow themed toasty cuddling session that leads into you-know-what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: it's snowing outside while steve and tony cuddles up in the penthouse.fire's on, soft carpet and a heavy blanket and they can do this all day
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: ficlets [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551151
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	warm (and happy)

It’s snowing outside. Middle of February and it’s sub-zero.

Inside, it’s warm and toasty. Fuzzy socks over their cold feet and a hand-quilted blanket courtesy of Wanda and Nat for the New Year _;_

_“A new year, a new start.”_

They had wished, all toothy smile and incredibly obnoxious winks.

The mugs on the table read “Dear Mom” and “Dear Dad”. Their insides drying with remains of morning hot chocolate.

It’s an old joke, worn with time and yet, every time he looks at it, it warms him all over from the inside.

His fingers seek out instinctively, sinking into flesh warmed woolen sweater which makes Steve breathe just a bit easier.

He smiles abundantly, pulling his very own bundle of heat closer and closer until it protests meekly.

In response, Steve buries his face into the mess of soft brown curls, smile blown wide into an unrestrained grin across his sleepy face.

The vibration of the hum tickles him and he hums in return, curling into the lazy arms that wrap around his torso possessively.

Then, tumble they go.

From the sofa to the soft cream carpet resting on the floor with surprised ‘oofs’.

They laugh, but neither makes an effort to stand up, or pull away. Steve simply tugs his other half in right where he needs him and Tony goes wherever there is.

“Hey,” Steve whispers after the sound of a stray motorbike fades across Manhattan.

Tony’s respond is muffled into Steve’s cable knitted sweater. Warm breath caressing the slight patch of an exposed skin above his collar and Steve sighs into him.

He’s full.

Satiated from last night’s take out and today’s big breakfast. But he’s other kind of ‘full’ too;

Filled to the brim with happiness and light, comforting thoughts. Of Tony’s softness and familiar scent. Of lovely memories featuring their friends and those woven between Tony and himself; yes, even the bad amongst the better – Steve’s so full, he’s bursting with pleasure.

Every cell in his body floats in a sea of molten gold. The good, warm kind of gold that isn’t too heavy or too light you’d sink. But just the right density to make him dance in daze like a lily pad on a pond under a bright sun.

Except it’s snowing today. White, haphazard little flurries. Some blown by the whistling wind while some simply sinking without a grace in their journey.

Yet it’s warm. Incredibly toasty, with the fire going on, crackling like a maestro, a pleasant tune for the otherwise quiet room they’re tangled in.

The floor’s warm – warmer with Tony wrapped around him. Or in him – he’s not so sure and that’s the best part of it all.

It’s one of those moments when Steve couldn’t figure out where exactly Tony begins or he ends. Like a big tangled mess of everything that sources his heart beat and he is ever so enthralled at that. And incredibly grateful.

Quietly, he lets his fingers sink and comb through the fluffy curls. Kisses his temple when its exposed and he pulls Tony even tighter, if that’s possible.

It’s all they’ve been doing since breakfast today. Holding each other, almost – scratch that – _definitely,_ clinging. As if they’re trying to make up for all those times they’ve missed when things haven’t been good between them.

But Steve is not thinking of those times now. Instead, his mind is occupied with thoughts of their present and their near future. Of what he wants to do after they have to get up because either is hungry at some point.

He’s thinking about cakes and the heat of oven. Of the smell of cookies and the freshly laundered sheet he has to pick out from the dryer. Because of the mess they’ve made of it yesterday when everything was _hotter_.

And he’s thinking about later. If they’ll mess it all up again then after.

He’s thinking about their future. Of his mission on Tuesday and Tony’s meeting on Monday. Of parting ways, or if it’s alright to just stay here until Monday evening.

He’s got plans. For the near tomorrow and far next years. Of this year’s Christmas. Maybe for summer, Tony and him can go visit that lavender field in France. Then a road trip before the fall arrives. Maybe this Christmas, he’ll wake up with Tony by his side. Have a little dinner by themselves after their obligatory team dinner for the eve.

Maybe they’ll skip dressing up altogether.

Maybe they’ll get that farm house upstate that they’ve always talked about before. If Tony still wants it now, like Steve does.

Maybe not. Maybe they’ll get a tiny cottage somewhere hidden for only both of them. Where no one can find them. Where peace will thrive with every breath they take, and love lines every step they make.

Tony’s fingers dance across his jaw, gently nudging, mildly distracting Steve from his thoughts – asking for a kiss that he oh, so willingly gives.

Chaste brush turns into a wet dance; lazy strokes of tongues and sharing of hot, heavy breaths. Tony climbing onto Steve, his weight half atop, comfortingly heavy over Steve’s chest and Steve grabs him and hauls him atop until he’s fulling straddling.

The blanket falls from his shoulders to his hip. The collar of Steve’s woolen sweater pulled loose around Tony’s neck, exposing a delicious smatter of love bites Steve laid on him last night.

Greedily, Steve reaches to crook a finger around that collar and tugs until Tony straightens up and pull it off of him all together.

He’s _beautiful_.

Olive-toned skin flushed with desire and his smirk is seven sins combined in one as he bunches Steve’s cable knitted sweater up to his armpit.

Steve humors him with a chuckle. Pushes himself onto a sit up before he pulls off his top. The position puts him nearer to Tony – breadth width apart – goose-bumps rising all over their naked skin as Tony ever so slowly traces a trigger finger down Steve’s throat and breastbone and his stomach and lower and –

“Tony,” Steve breathes out and in, tasting the air between them.

His answer is a hug, brushing sensitive skin together and hot breath up his shoulder. “That’s me. Right here.” A sharp suck of that tingling skin of his neck and a bite alternating every suck and lick after that.

A shudder wrecks through Steve’s spine and he shivers, squeezing Tony tighter to himself. He can see the soft curls dancing under his own bated breaths and he kisses where he can reach, whimpering when Tony teases below his neck.

He’s half hard, not fully. There’s something about the lull of the comfort they’re in that he’s so… drifted and lazy. Everything feeling luxurious and soft on his skin. Even Tony’s harshest bites and strongest sucks.

Even his wettest kisses feel deliciously warm with no trails of coldness left behind.

It makes Steve hum and breathe in deep until his lungs are large and puffed out. He runs a hand up and down Tony’s back, fingers skimming across the skin he knows so well; he knows where each freckle lays even with his eyes not open.

Tony’s hand squeezes at his flank while another tips his chin up so they could kiss.

Long and lazy, savoring the moment and each stroke of the tongue, skin on skin, fingers dancing across their body just –

_Everything._

Somewhere down the line, Tony slips the woolen sweater on Steve – to whom it actually belongs – and he slips himself underneath as well. Stretching the material as far as it could give until Steve falls onto his back and Tony goes with him.

He kisses Steve’s ears and along his jaw. Over the tip of his nose after he traces the shape with his thumb. And over each eyelid, along his brow line. Under his cheekbone, over his frown, below his chin and along his throat.

Slowly, he slithers. Down the length of Steve’s torso. Head disappearing with each peppered kiss; down his neck, along his collarbone, chest and each nipple where Steve shivers, and onto the faint line of his happy trail that begins under his sternum.

Tony’s nips are sharp, his licks are forgiving. He’s warm and hot and hotter the lower he goes.

His fingers fiddle with the buckle and another hand pushes away the sweater. Steve laughs halfheartedly because why put on the damned thing again if you’re only finding it restricting.

He doesn’t say because Tony snaps open his pants’ button then. Then the zipper is unzipped and Tony doesn’t hesitate to reach into the boxer and pull out the half hard erection Steve’s sporting for him.

“What are we even doing?” Steve laughs, all soft and light headed, carding led like fingers through Tony’s hair.

A raspy chuckle mist around his highly sensitive skin. Tony gives a hard yank to Steve’s pants and peeks up, devious eyes twinkling. “Do we ever know?”

“Good point,” Steve gasps.

“Masters of going with the flow, aren’t we?” Tony gives a long lick from the base to the tip, head tipping to the side where Steve’s massaging a thumb behind his ear.

“With PhD and stuffs.” Steve supplies dazedly.

“Hmm,” Tony mouths the head, “This is exactly where you stop making sense.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“Gladly,” he winks, taking Steve’s length with familiar expertise into his mouth. One hand reaches up to take Steve’s and he intertwines their fingers.

Steve sinks into pleasure, brain melting into a warm puddle of nothing and he just _breathes._ In and out and in - a hitch – and out.

At some point, the warmth becomes a sweltering heat. The blanket and sweater like a scalding load burning off his skin.

That’s when he pants and gasps, beads of sweat sprinkling along his hairline, up his forearm and all over his palms where he squeezes Tony’s hand in his. Fists his hair rougher and he _tugs_. Expelling a deep and raw sound from within his chest.

When he comes, he feels wrecked to the tip of toes where they curl from the aftermath of pleasure. He’s sweaty and squirmy. Still too hot and uneasy, but he welcomes Tony into his arm like it’s nothing.

Kisses his mouth and tastes his cum coated tongue. Swipes away that single sweat bead rolling down his temple with his thumb and nuzzles his cheek.

Tony helps him out of his top, then his pants. After, his own pants and underwear and he’s back again, sprawling indulgently over Steve’s spent form on the carpet.

The blanket is somewhere Steve could care less, but he still briefly wonders about it before he lets himself fully drift off. The numbers and shapes Tony traces over his naked chest like a balm that soothes him down from his height.

Idly he wanders about Tony, but the limp organ wedged between their bodies is enough of a reminder that Tony’s still sated from their morning sex.

It’s Steve who’s different.

 _“I’m too mundane and old,”_ Tony once told him because Steve was upset that he couldn’t make Tony come in return for his own record.

 _“Sides, this,”_ he’d waved at Steve’s at attention erection, _“Is_ very _flattering and my ego is extremely satisfied.”_

Then, he’d proceeded to push Steve back and climb atop him, fiddling with the belt buckle, _“Happy to serve, thank you very much.”_

Let it never be said, Steve never tried, because he did. But after many years, he’s given up and Tony always seems glad about it.

Just like how he’s humming into Steve’s neck right now, fingertips dancing all over his naked skin while they simply lay, close and connected and _happy_.

Steve flips over their intertwined fingers so Tony’s hand presses up his lips. Once, twice and he rubs his nose over it until Tony looks up at him, sleepy gaze twinkling with amusement.

Gaze affixed, Steve opens his mouth around the back of Tony’s hand, teeth pressing but never sinking while Tony props his chin to watch him.

Steve draws his tongue out, swirling a small circle over the flesh caged between his teeth and Tony quirks a challenging eyebrow at him.

“Go on,” he murmurs, when Steve stops. “Show me what else you’ve got.”

With a burst of retaliation, Steve flips them over so Tony’s now on his back with Steve’s heavy weight hovering threateningly. All encompassing, easily passable as too constricting and claustrophobic but to Tony, _never_.

Because it’s Steve _._ All warm and big boned with tons of meat and he runs hot like a furnace, smells of spice and grass after rain.

Smells like _home._ Feels like the cosiest hug Tony had ever known in his life and it’s… Well, it’s _Steve._

He’s gotten bigger in the years. Heavier. Deliciously _thicker_. Pure lean muscles from the early days Tony had known him has a flattering layer of fat over them. He’s fit but on a thicker side, with crevices lining out his abdominal lines.

Tony dreams of tracing them with his fingers, with his tongue and lucky for him, he can make all those dreams come true whenever he wants. However he wants them.

He himself have lost most of his definitions. But he’s lean. His frame still attractively lithe even for his age and Steve always makes sure Tony knows just how much he appreciates it.

Just the way he holds Tony, traces his body during sex and during nothing. The way his pupils dilate when he sees Tony undress and on top of all that, he _says_ it.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes into Tony’s ear, index tracing a long line between his chest, down his navel and to his sweatpants he’d ‘borrowed’ from Steve without telling.

Tony lets out a sound. What supposed to be a start of an argument where he says _;_

_“No, it’s you. It’s you with your big hands that fit around my hips and hold me down. It’s you with shoulders wide enough to hide my own. You with your thick thighs and arms that makes me feel like I’m yours when you hold me.”_

But he doesn’t even get close enough to utter the first word. Blood rushing straight to his dick when Steve pulls him out of his pants and starts stroking.

Tony’s looks at him.

At his face. At his ocean blue eyes that have become blown out and the way he wets his lower lip with a swipe of his pink tongue.

The way beads of perspiration lines above his brow line, one dangling to fall down and when it does, Tony closes his eyes and feels the rush of arousal that boils out of his core.

Steve’s hand is smooth and Tony arches willingly into his touch.

When Steve makes a move to sink below, Tony snaps his eyes open and stops him. “No! Just – Stay here.”

_Because I want to see your face._

_I want to see how much this turns you on and your fucking gorgeous mouth and your eyes and that perfectly straight nose and your stunning jaw._

_The way you swallow, the way you smell and the way your hair falls down on your face. I want to see all that. I want to remember all that as you unravel me with your fucking large hand –_

_Good, fucking God -_

“What do you want?” Steve rasps.

“ _You_ ,” Tony gasps, bucking up into Steve when he gives a perfectly angled stroke.

“Where?” Steve asks, breathy.

His eyes are dark and fully focused on him. Not an ounce of attention off of Tony.

Tony pulls him down by his neck for a kiss, an airy whisper of, “Right here,” leaving his open mouth which Steve swallows into his own greedily.

His hand works expertly on Tony; tugging with lazy strokes and caressing squeezes where it’s extra sensitive, setting his nerve endings on fire, coursing sparking thrills of pleasure down his spine.

Every whimper, every sigh and every whine, Steve’s right there to swallow and savour them all. Free hand cupping Tony’s face and tilting his chin up so their gazes are fixed on each other. Nowhere else.

It’s series of conversations carried in silence. Between them. All for them, none for anybody else, neither for even the air around them. It’s theirs and _theirs_ only.

And the genuine intimacy of it all –

Of being the sole focus of all Steve’s undivided attention. The centre of his world right then.

The way he cradles Tony’s face and basks him in all of his affection. All the unsaid, unconfessed love he could never, ever, manage to justify with words.

The way he’s caging Tony, like a physical barrier between him and the world. The sheer protectiveness of that action – _Possessiveness_ –

All of that –

And his words, his soft yet commanding whisper of, “Come for me. Make a mess. _C’mon_ , Tony,” combined, is what finally pushes Tony over the edge.

The snap of the waistband is like a sharp slap to his sensitive skin and he keens with a quiet whimper, still clutching onto Steve.

It’s the muted rustle and the soft sound of suckling that makes Tony open his eyes and drink the sight above him hungrily.

Steve with his cum coated fingers dragging across his pink lips and pinker tongue.

“Deviant,” Tony comments fondly.

“I just like the taste of you,” Steve shrugs, leaning down for a kiss.

It’s salty and familiar. Tony pulls him in until his arms give.

“I’m gonna crush you,” he breathes.

“I’d die happy,” Tony kisses him. Reverent. Taking him apart cell by cell, inside out until everything that’s swimming in Steve’s head is Tony surrounded by a hum of happy content.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like, rb and share in [tumblr](https://anthonyed.tumblr.com/post/620237153878802432/its-snowing-outside-middle-of-february-and-its)


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